


Under the Same Gray Sky

by Justmeandmytech



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alternate Universe - Canon, Body Horror (mild), Canon-Typical Violence, M/M, Memory Loss, Mollymauk Tealeaf Lives, Mutual Pining, Nonbinary Mollymauk Tealeaf, Other, Resurrection, Slow Burn, Trans Caleb Widogast, Trans Mollymauk Tealeaf, detailed warnings in author's note, intention is for this to be slow burn widomauk, molly centric for at least the first several chapters for reasons that will become clear, molly rez fic, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-28
Updated: 2019-10-12
Packaged: 2020-07-29 04:07:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20075866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Justmeandmytech/pseuds/Justmeandmytech
Summary: Something in the magic Caduceus cast that day at Mollymauk's grave didn't work quite as he had intended.  Then, some time later, Molly awoke alone beside the road, searching for who he is and chasing the memories of those he'd known.Canon Compliant timeline (thanks critrolestats) but an AU where Molly comes back and manages to meet up with the group. Or does he? Hopefully so, that's why I'm writing this fic.





	1. Prologue: A Cold Grave

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A filled grave becomes an empty one.
> 
> CW: mild claustrophobic imagery after the break. If that sort of thing bothers you, skip ahead a paragraph.

A cold wind swept through the open fields, dislodging wet snow from the swaying branches of evergreen trees along the pristine, white-covered road. The path, only visible because years of travel had eroded the dirt leaving banks on either side that now collected rolling snowdrifts, glistened in the moonlight that filtered down between disparate clouds above. There was nothing but stillness for miles; no birds above, no creatures moving in the snowy fields, not a living thing to disturb the quiet of the night.

And yet, in the distance, a bit of color, a bit of movement. The wind gust surged and rainbow fabric hanging on a haphazardly crafted marker billowed and threatened to tear from its wooden post. Truthfully, it was a miracle that the wind had not yet taken the cloth and cast it away, sent the garish robe off into oblivion to be forgotten like the grave it marked seemed to be. Beneath the snow, beneath the frozen earth, a corpse laid still and unmoving, wrapped in cold navy blue fabric that shimmered like the night sky above everything. Still, like the quiet snowy landscape encasing it.

Another blast of wind, stronger than the last, blew whiteness into the air, lifting snow from the ground and whipped it around and against the now quite weather-worn coat as it refused to budge from its sentry above the grave. Sleeves flapping in the wind like the beating of wings against the force that grew stronger still, unnaturally so, pulling more snow from the ground in its wake. The cold dirt beneath the whirlwind emerged, cracked and frozen, the edges of the grave still clear despite the time that had passed. All at once, the wind stopped.

All the snow that had been whipped up in its wake fell around the new open patch, piling banks around the perfectly circular space. Stillness returned to the area, just the snow, the stars, and the moon remained to keep watch.

The earth within the circle of snow grew dark and softened, the tightly packed earth expanding, becoming soft and pliable as though a fresh spring rain had just passed through. It shifted, swaying the now weathered branch, threatening to crash it to the muddy soil below. However, it did not fall, held fast while the ground around it seems to boil and writhe, green shoots curling out of the moist dirt around it. The stick itself almost seemed to breathe, the long-dead wood growing fresh with new buds sprouting from its bark and brushing against the shimmering crescent moons within the coat.

Then suddenly it all wilted, growing dull and dry, a mere husk of brown that snapped into pieces in the cold wind. It’s life thoroughly drained, the vines fell away against the moist earth below. The stillness returned. This time it remained.

[BREAK]

At first, there was nothing. Then there was cold and weight. Everything was so _heavy_. But what was heaviness? It had been nothing, then it was gasping and choking, not enough air, no way to move, a tightly matted _something_ wrapped around everything. Arms moved, frantically searching for a way out. They were able to find a way out of the _something_ (fabric, it was soft and woven _fabric_ he remembered) and were met with cold, damp, malleable earth. Mechanically, with little thought but survival, he clawed into the earth, pushing it aside and around and pulled. Dirt filled his nose, his mouth, his senses, and his chest grew tight. Panic, yes this was panic, that was something he was familiar with - fear. For agonizingly long seconds that felt like years, all his fingers found was more dirt.

Was this all that existence meant? Cold and fear and suffocation?

Just as his lungs were aching like they were filled with shards of glass and he thought he'd know nothing but that darkness, his hand felt the warm, moist ground give way to freezing wind. Desperately, he tore at the dirt around his arm, pulling his body up towards freedom. His shoulders squeezed through the opening with some effort, but once they had also been freed it was easy going. Well, as easy as crawling out of one's own grave could be. He scrabbled against the ground away from the hole behind him as far as he could before collapsing against his arms, panting to catch his breath. He still felt vaguely warm from the exertion, sweat ensuring that any mud stuck to him remained there when he dragged his sleeve across his forehead.

He winced at the sensation of grit against his skin, too much for a reason he could not understand, and glanced down at his arm. It must have been his arm because it moved when he wanted it to, but it was entirely unfamiliar to him. Actually, now that he thought about it, so was his shirt. And the filthy pants that covered strange legs that lay across alien ground. Where was he? Why was he here? His pulse pounded in his temple as he wracked his brain, but it was fruitless. All he got for his effort was a headache and frustration, another new emotion of which he had to keep track. He decided it was best to wallow in it for a moment, and rolled onto his back. 

His breath was coming more evenly now, and above him was a much better sight than he'd ever seen. It wasn't dark and dirty out here. Well, admittedly, it was still fairly dark, but it was roomy and the air was cool and fresh. A little too cool. He felt his body involuntarily shiver and briskly rubbed his arms in an attempt to warm himself. (It did very little.) He sat up and took in more of his surroundings, only to discover that there wasn't much to take in. It was all white. There were some trees a ways off, and that hole he decided he hated. The stick propped in front of the grave caught his attention though. There was some more fabric hanging from it, bright and welcoming against the grayscale backdrop.

It took him several moments to get his feet steady beneath himself, bringing that frustration back to the fore again, but he managed to do so with enough grace that he felt proud of himself. The coat was cold from hanging in the wind, but it sheltered his bare forearms as he slipped it on in a way that made something in the back of his mind perk up in a weird sort of familiarity. A piece of paper flitted off the coat and blew away into the wind - he considered following it, but it was gone before he made up his mind. Which, well, made up his mind for him.

With a sigh, he pulled the hood of his coat over his hair. And _horns_! They were strange, but he automatically covered his head without the fabric catching against them, muscle memory taking over where his mind was unhelpful. He crossed his legs and sat on the dirt in front of that stupid hole, hands pressed to his cheeks as he tried again to pull something out of the darkness, anything he could remember. Still, nothing came. It didn't make sense just to sit here and wait to remember, especially with the cold still seeping in through his coat, but what else could he do?

His face itched where the mud was drying, caking his features in grayish muck that cracked when he moved the muscles beneath it, so he again wiped at it with the (relatively) cleaner sleeve. Better, but now he was aware of his chest itching under his shirt. Filthy! He felt his eyes grow wet as the frustration grew. Not only was he in the middle of nowhere, with nothing he could remember; he was doing it all while covered in dirt and itchy. He reached into his shirt to dust some of the grime away, only to be met with a crinkled sheet of paper folded against his chest.

Hopeful, he yanked it out and opened it, searching it for answers, clues, suggestions as to what might have been going on. Who he was. Where he was. How he got there. Ink, carefully scrawled across the paper, stared back at him unhelpfully. The script was beautiful to look at, nicely written letters - that he couldn't understand. He recognized some of the letters, an M a C, some vowels. But he couldn't read the whole of it to get any answers from what was surely a very nice letter.

His voice was hoarse from disuse as he spoke his first words.

"You've got to be fucking kidding me."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my first fanfic in a while, but I'm hopeful that it will be one of my best hahaha. So far, this chapter is already longer than the majority of my other works, and it's only the prologue to gauge interest!
> 
> I plan to update characters, content warnings, etc with every chapter as needed, so do not be afraid to provide feedback regarding cws.
> 
> Also, as it's my first fic in a while, I would love comments <3


	2. Sporadic Thoughts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Exploring feelings and locations can be both fun and awful, depending which you're doing.
> 
> CW: Beginning section has mentions of dissociation, mild description of an anxiety attacks, but nothing too specific. Skip to the Break if it bothers you!

At that moment, several hundred miles to the southwest, the remains of The Mighty Nein slept with varying degrees of comfort in The Leaky Tap in Zadash. They were rested from their previous incident in Shady Creek Run, having spent two weeks in the city to recover. Now, they waited for the morning and the beginning of their trek towards the Menagerie Coast. The evening's meal had been a mix of catching up and discussing their plans going forward, eventually deciding that Fjord’s interests were the most pressing. Though, to be fair, his were also the only plans forthcoming and actionable.

Caleb thought this to himself as he sat on his bed, petting Frumpkin by his face while Nott snored, curled up against his torso. Beau had been as unreadable as ever, Nott was just eager to help Caleb, and Caduceus was just following his visions from his deity. The newest addition to their little group was strange and definitely an acquired taste. He wasn’t sure if he’d adjusted to that taste yet, but the earnest, frank attitude was refreshing in its own way, and Caleb was sure that he would come to appreciate the other’s company just as much as he did the rest of his...friends. Nott had been encouraging him to think about their group as more than just a means to an end. That was also something to which he was adjusting.

He stretched his toes under the blanket and turned his head to stare up at the ceiling. He shouldn’t have listened to her. They had been managing just fine on their own. Well, managing was a bit of a stretch; it was certainly mostly just surviving. But it had been working, uncomplicated and straight forward. Now things were messy. People didn’t always agree, something that was tolerable in small groups, but there were eight of them. Well, six with Yasha off grieving and… Regardless, there were six of them and decisions were complex now. Everything moved slower, and now Caleb had to concern himself with what everyone else thought. How everyone else _felt_.

How _he_ felt about everyone else.

Emotions were not helpful. They were a liability, a weakness, something that dulled his thoughts and his reactions. Frequently, they overwhelmed his mind and shut him down at the worst times. It was easier to shut it all out preemptively and focus on the logic of it all; to keep himself in control of himself. He’d been doing so for years at this point, almost subconsciously. These last few weeks had been harder. He told himself it was because he’d become complacent, allowed the rest of the group to get under his skin with their own emotional responses.

But despite the time, he felt like the grave dirt still clung to his clothes, his skin. His (not) grimy fingernails curled into Frumpkin’s fur and he took a deep breath, forcing his eyes to focus on the sprawling grain of the wood ceiling. Nott shifted against him in her sleep, as if she could sense his distress, and he was thankful again for her presence. He let goof the air in his lungs and took a moment to match his breathing to the rise and fall of her form.

It was over and there was no longer a need to mourn. Mollymauk was dead and gone and he did not need to, could not let himself think about that fact.

He still had not slept when the early rays of the morning drifted across the floor.

[BREAK / POV]

While obviously a disappointment, the letter in his hands had to have contained some sort of explanation. Or, it didn’t, and it was just paper that had been tucked away. Some scrap. He literally had no way of knowing! That was what frustrated him more than anything, the lack of knowledge. He knew some things. Vague memories or words that came to him in waves while he sat there in the dirt. For example, he was cold because the white stuff around him was _snow_. The twinkling lights above him that had kept him entertained for who knows how long were _stars_. It was _night_. He remembered how to stand after he had given up on reading the letter; walking and running came naturally after that. The action had left him winded, but laying in the snow looking up at the sky while his chest heaved brought a wide grin to his face, white and shimmery gold vapor visible above him as he exhaled.

Not everything was gone from his mind. Most of it was still there, he just had to get to it before he would suddenly become aware of its presence. The important functions and tools of surviving existed- he simply lacked the terminology for a lot of things. That, and a name. He knew he should have a name, just like everything around him did, but thoughts related to himself seemed to be foggy and distant. His head became heavy and ached if he spent too long trying to recall any such memories. It wasn’t worth the headache he decided, literally and figuratively.

After sometime, even running and watching the stars disinterested him. His was shivering slightly in the snow, and he was bored. This, he decided, was the worst thing he’d ever felt.

But what was he to do? There was no one else around. No roads, at least none that were visible due to the snow, for him to follow. There were only two places he could see worth exploring. Coincidentally, the only two places that stood out against the white expanse. There was the grouping of trees off in the distance, evergreen boughs peeking from under the snowy trim, and The Hole.

He did not even like _acknowledging_ The Hole. He did not care for the memories that he had of that hole, of the cold and the pressure, the long period of darkness and nothingness mixed with crawling and creeping that made him itch if he thought about it for too long. The persistent headache that ebbed and flowed with his thoughts, when he pushed too hard against the fog, swelled when he tried to recall. Or even looked at its gaping black maw against the ground. He hated The Hole. So, he picked himself up and trotted towards the trees without sparing the naked earth another glance.

The trees weren’t massive, but larger than he expected as they seemed to rise out of the horizon when he approached. He turned his head up and stood at the base of a tree, hand gently touching the rough bark. A new sensation that contrasted with the soft, wet, cold of the snow. He dragged his hand across the surface gently, relishing the feeling as he paced around the roots. From there, he reached out his other hand for the next tree within reach and started circling it the other direction, feet moving faster. From tree to tree, he passed along the outside of the grove, giggling to himself. Running was more fun with something to run around, he thought as he leapt over a tangled knot of roots between two trees, it took more thought and skill.

_Thump_.

He blinked up at the branches that were now in front of him instead of above him. Lifting his head from the snow, he noticed the shorter (but still tall) shape leaning over him.

“Ah!” he shouted, pushing back until his spine pressed against another tree.

“Ah-” the figure gasped, quieter than he had, as it pulled back to give him space before it continued, “Don’t be frightened. What are you doing all the way out here?”

He wasn’t sure what to say to that. What was he doing out here? Where was out here? She seemed to notice his hesitation and smiled gently. He thought she seemed very kind, so he didn’t flinch when she held out her hand to him. Instead, he took it in his own and stood.

“Nevermind that,” she hummed, patting snow off his shoulders and looking him over with a discerning eye, “You’re probably hungry. And cold. Why don’t you come with me and get some breakfast?”

“Who are you?” he finally asked, taking his hand back, “Why should I come with you?”

She smiled again, and it seemed all too knowing with a touch of sadness in her eyes.

“I am Nila. I know your friends, Mollymauk.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your patience! I meant to post this much sooner, but I just started a new job and needed to focus on that. However, I'm on a good rhythm now and will hopefully be posting more soon. However, I'm not going to promise anything, hahaha ^^;;;


	3. A Trip Down Memory Lane

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Memories and new friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW mentions of scars/wounds, mild body horror, and fungi in the second to last paragraph beginning with “She pressed her hand to her…”
> 
> There's also art I painted at the end of the chapter that should have content warning for body horror, blood, fungi and scars.

_ Mollymauk _ . The name seemed to click into place in his mind as soon as he heard it. Yes, that was him. Fit over his self perception like a well tailored glove. How had he not known that? He certainly couldn’t have been anyone _ but _ Mollymauk. That wasn’t what doubled him over, nearly out of breath from the blinding ache in his temple. No, that was the wave of images, sounds, and smells that overwhelmed him after that information had taken root.

A large woman, the smell of a campfire, and a cacophony of voices (badly) singing a tune in the evening. Brightly colored tents filled with excited looking people. A friendly elven man patting his shoulder with a look of pride while a blade balanced on Mollymauk’s knee. So many more memories come flooding back to him, but they’re too fast, too many for him to grasp anything but the vaguest notion of their contents. Still, they filled his chest with an intense warmth of affection, which only emphasized the bitter cold that wrapped his bones when the memories faded back out of reach. 

Nila was still looking at him, more concerned than before, when his vision stopped swimming. She’d placed a steadying hand on his arm at some point. He liked that.

“Are you alright?” she asked, voice radiating calm to which Mollymauk clung, “We should get you out of the cold.”

He nodded, voice stolen as he tried to catch his breath again. He felt that he did not know her, had not ever, but something told him he could trust her. The firbolg then took his hand and led him further into the trees.

Their footsteps crunched in the quiet, the only sound around them, as light began filtering through the canopy above them. Mollymauk stared up, lead safely by Nila around the foliage. The sunlight was warm on his face and it struck him that it wasn’t his first sunrise. He had no memory of one before, so it still amazed him how the dark blue with pinpricks of light gave way to gold, pink, purple, and blue hues. It made the whole seem more colorful. The bark was more brown, the pine needles more green. Nila’s hair and fur became richer hues while her clothes brightened in the rays that reached through pockets of blue sky. Even the snow was _ more _ white as it coated everything around, sparkling as they shifted through the thicket. The thought possessed him that his coat must have looked _ fantastic _ in the sunlight.

“This is where my family lives.” Nila interjected, gesturing ahead to a clearing, “Crispvale Thicket.”

Before them was a small farmhouse, nestled in between the trees and surrounded by various tents and wooden structures. Other firbolgs moved between the buildings, or sat by a fresh fire with something aromatic cooking in the pot hanging over it. For the most part, everyone paid little mind to the pair as they approached, though one or two gave Mollymauk a strange look. Nila paid them little mind, passing quick greetings as she led them towards the old farmhouse. The door had been replaced by a thick curtain of moss and hide, pulled aside and fastened to the door frame. She tapped lightly on said frame as she spoke.

“Kitor?”

There was quiet shuffling from further in the farmhouse, barely audible, before another firbolg carrying a sleeping child stepped into the doorway. He stood a few inches taller than Nila but had the same smile on his face, open and kind.

“You’re back much sooner than expected,” he said, glancing down at Mollymauk, “And with unexpected company.”

She chuckled at this, “Yes, another friend of the Nein found me while I was on my way to the Grove.”

Mollymauk simply stared at three firbolgs while they looked at him expectantly. He wasn’t really sure what they wanted. He wasn’t even really sure why he had followed Nila, except that she had promised him warmth and apparently knew friends of his. Friends that he, himself, did not know. So, instead of replying, he just shrugged at them with a small look of confusion. Kitor tilted his head a bit at this, but hid most of his concern by opening the curtain a little wider.

“Why don’t you two come in, out of snow,” he stepped aside and Mollymauk saw the rest of the small house was filled with sleeping forms. The floors were covered with furs and blankets, groups of what looked like children and adults curled together against the walls. Some were still asleep, mostly young children, but the older children and adults were shifting and stretching, getting ready for the day. Hushed voices conversed as they entered, paying them barely any mind. It was definitely warmer inside, despite the absence of a fire, and the shiver of his limbs began to abate. Nila led him to a vacated section of the floor where she and Kitor sat, gesturing Mollymauk to join them. He did so, plopping onto the furs with a delighted smile. The fabric was so soft under his fingers, much softer than his shirt of his jacket, and he couldn’t help stroking it. He twirled some bits between his finger and his thumb, shifting focus from the pair in front of him.

While he did so, Nila turned to Kitor with a slightly faltered smile, “I found him by the marker that the Nein had left, apparently… he had climbed out on his own.”

The other firbolg nodded, “That would explain why you were so eager to leave for the Grove today. I should know better than to doubt your pouch by now.”

She laughed, “You really should. But I am worried. I don’t know how he came back, but I don’t know if it ... finished?”

“What do you mean?”

They both looked at Mollymauk, who had lifted his head to look at them. His face looked confused, but it wasn’t the vacant look she’d seen on him while they were on the outskirts of the thicket. Instead, he just seemed curious, albeit more than slightly concerned. 

“Not to eavesdrop, though, you were talking about _ me _.” he continued, “What do you mean ‘finished’?”

Nila shifted uncomfortably and thought a bit before she responded, “It’s difficult to explain. I don’t know what magic was used to...awaken you, but I feel that it hasn’t finished running its course.”

Mollymauk frowned, “What do you mean? I don’t understand. I wasn’t asleep, we both know that, but how can you tell it isn’t finished?”

She wasn’t making any sense and it was beginning to frustrate him. Her talking around the issue like he couldn’t figure out what she meant didn’t help him. He didn’t remember anything from before crawling out of The Hole, but he wasn’t stupid. Logically he could figure out what had happened, to a point, but his skull ached whenever he tried to reflect on that obvious fact. He knew he was alive. He knew he was Mollymauk. What he needed was information about _ before _ he woke up.

“I apologize Mollymauk. I didn’t mean to sound condescending,” she replied, taking his hand gingerly, “I wanted to avoid causing you distress, but that was presumptive of me.” She placed her other hand over his, warmth flowing into him, “I don’t know much more than you, but I can try to answer anything. As for how I know it isn’t finished, well…”

She pressed her hand to her chest and looked pointedly at him. Mollymauk imitated the motion with his own hand before looking down at his shirt. Under his palm, streaked with brown stains of dried dirt and blood, his shirt was torn. He’d felt it before, known it was present, but tried his hardest to ignore it. He pulled the hole in his shirt open more to reveal the thickly marred flesh underneath. He’d felt it, twinges of pain when he breathed too deeply, something pushed his thoughts away from the cause. Even now, it was hard to bring his fingers against the scarring and scabbing, his observations sliding away again even as he felt the pain and the trickle of blood that dripped down from the pressure of his hand. In the middle of the wound, where it was still healing and still bleeding, a cluster of faintly glowing copper growths protruded from his chest. He swallowed thickly, breaking one off with a wince so he could examine it more closely.

A mushroom?

Suddenly he felt a sharp pain from his chest, eyes unfocusing from the fungi in his hand as he dropped it and clutched at his shirt. Several carts and horses, a flash of anger and fear. A glimpse of a mountain of a man looming over a woman, followed by Mollymauk’s arm dragging a sword across his own flesh. The man turned. Laughter echoed in his skull; the man lunged.

** _An example it is._ **

Mollymauk’s eyes fell shut and he blacked out with a whimper.

** _Respect._ **

** **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully I'll be posting the next chapter in about two weeks! Please remember to leave a comment and kudos if you enjoyed the chapter.


End file.
